


the color of kaiju blood

by bluebeholder



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drift Compatibility, Gen, Horror, The Drift (Pacific Rim), The Narrator Might Be The Outsider, The Outsider Might Be An Alien, cameos from other characters - Freeform, zalgo text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: A Category 3 kaiju is closing in on the city of Vancouver. Jaeger pilots Corvo Attano and Emily Kaldwin are deployed to stop the monster. It should have been a routine fight. But something goes wrong, and when they're taken out of the fight......they wake up somewhere else.And something impossible is waiting for them.





	the color of kaiju blood

**Author's Note:**

> Saw Pacific Rim 2 last night and had all my feelings about the franchise reopened. I fully believe that Pacific Rim is at its best when it's engaged with horror, and this franchise has _so many ways_ for horror to be a thing. Cosmic horror? Yep. Horror tropes associated with giant monsters? Yep. Body horror? So much, you guys.
> 
> So here you go, a foray into horror, Pacific Rim, and Dishonored.

Drift compatibility is a rare and precious thing. It’s not just anyone who can connect their minds and handle the neural load required to pilot one of the great Jaegers and stand forth to fight the monsters surging out of the Breach. Among the ranks of the world’s best and brightest, there are siblings, best friends, married couples, and one standout oddity: a father and daughter.

Housed in the Los Angeles Shatterdome, the Mark-3 “Void Walker” is one of the heroes of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps. Fast, strong, agile, and carrying a kill count that stands among the best even compared to its Mark-4 brethren, its gleaming black armor is a bulwark of safety against the oncoming Kaiju. Pilots Corvo Attano and Emily Kaldwin fight shoulder to shoulder, refusing to let a single monster get past the Miracle Mile and reach any civilians. So far, not a single one has slipped past.

Unfortunately, that’s all about to change.

Today a Category Three Kaiju has emerged from the Breach and approaches rapidly toward Vancouver. Dubbed “Leviathan”, it’s a true monster, among the largest Kaiju seen yet. Fins, great teeth, and a whale’s head give the beast its name, a creature of Biblical proportions. Void Walker and its Mark-4 counterpart “Dreadful Wale” are set out to take on the Jaeger.

The two Jaegers are carried north and dropped off the coast. The sea floor shakes as they land, ready for the battle. Corvo and Emily take the lead, with Daud and Billie—pilots of Dreadful Wale—following close behind. A storm brews on the horizon, black clouds looming; against this backdrop, the incoming Kaiju is plain to see: its glowing blue eyes, crackling with hate, and claws ready to tear Void Walker and its pilots apart.

“Ready on my command,” Corvo says, sizing up the monster. Large, but its head is squat, its jaws short. Arms powerful, but that’s nothing new.

“Ready,” Emily says. Corvo can feel her savage grin through the Drift: she’s more than prepared for this. “Just tell me.”

“Play it smart,” the Marshal advises through the radio link. The Los Angeles Shatterdome has been accused of nepotism before: Marshal Jessamine Kaldwin, Emily’s mother, reigns supreme there. But no one who’s ever watched Void Walker in action can deny their effectiveness or professionalism. “This one is the biggest we’ve seen here.”

“If the bodyguard and the princess fail, we’ll be on it,” Daud says from Dreadful Wale.

“Shut up and focus,” Billie mutters. Daud makes no secret of his dislike of Corvo; the feeling is mutual. It’s never stopped them from working together to destroy the threats coming out of the Breach.

The banter is normal. Though adrenaline is high and death is always near, Corvo and Emily have challenged many Kaiju and come out victorious. One might almost believe this is routine.

One would, of course, be wrong.

Corvo tunes out everything but Emily as they close. The Jaegers are unimpeded by the water through which they wade now, and the Kaiju definitely sees them closing. It bellows a challenge, changing course to confront them. “Ready!” Corvo says, planting his feet and bracing them for impact. Emily follows, perfectly synchronized, and they hold their ground as the Kaiju charges.

It hits with the force of a hurricane.

Leviathan comes in claws wide, ready to snap off Void Walker’s head. They’re ready for it. Arms are out before Leviathan can come close. Emily and Corvo grab the Kaiju’s arms and hold them apart, straining against the monster’s strength. They’re practically eye to eye with it, watching its mouth snap at them, blunt face trying to reach the Jaeger.

“Hit it!” Emily yells as they move in unison, drawing back to kick and sweep Leviathan’s legs out from under it. The monster goes down with a crash that shakes the sea floor.

“Unfolding!” Corvo flicks his wrist and the short sword contained in Void Walker’s wrist unfolds from its casing. Void Walker surges forward, sword leading to smash a hole through Leviathan’s ugly body. It screams, glowing blue blood flies, and huge teeth clamp down on Void Walker’s other arm.

Emily howls with pain—that’s her side—and Corvo feels the sear of pain as he shoulders a greater part of the burden. They draw back together and punch the sword into Leviathan again and again, shaking it loose, but they’re off-balance. And that wouldn’t be so bad, but then the Kaiju smashes into them and Void Walker goes down.

They’ve been down before and they’re both moving to stand when something hits the head and then the world

**c**

**h**

**a**

**n**

**g**

**e**

**s**

and they’re not in the Jaeger anymore.

They’re falling.

Corvo hits the ground and rolls, coming up on one knee. Still in the Drivesuit, but no longer attached to Emily. He can’t feel her in his head. But he certainly hears her.

“Fuck!” Emily staggers to her feet, ripping off her helmet. “What—”

“No idea,” Corvo says grimly, rising and pulling off his own helmet, holding it under his arm. He gives a long look around. “And no idea where either.”

They’re standing on an island of rock hanging in a vast empty space. Other motes of rock float nearby. “Float” and “hang” are bad words, though, because gravity only seems to have a small role to play here. Corvo has never seen anything like this, not even in his dreams. The light is sourceless, and there are no shadows cast by anything. It’s all flat illumination, depthless, but hyperreal in the blue-violet haze.

As best they can, they compartmentalize the disorientation. Until they wake up from this thing that must be a dream, they have to keep moving forward. “We have to get back,” Emily says tersely. “That thing will be making landfall soon.”

“We did enough damage to Leviathan that whatever happens, Daud and Billie will be able to bring it down,” Corvo says. He looks up, toward a glowing place up a long steep ramp of stone. A destination? “No way back, so let’s get moving.”

Side by side, Corvo and Emily advance up the ramp. Strange sounds echo through the not-sky, and things move in the distance, titanic creatures larger than Kaiju. Corvo can’t shake the feeling of being watched, but the creatures pay them no mind, and there’s no one else around. The whole place is cold, and whatever atmosphere they’re breathing is still.

At the top of the ramp there’s a jump across a narrow gap before they reach the plateau. Now they can see what awaits them: an…altar, that’s the only word, shrouded in a sickly golden glow. An altar built of worn driftwood and, as they get closer, bones. Flat discs of bone, large as Corvo’s hand, lie scattered about, and tiny charms of bone and wood clatter under their feet as he and Emily approach. A drapery of purple fabric falls to drag wetly on the ground, and the stone around the altar is soaked with fluid that sticks to their boots with every step.

A pile of machinery lies on the altar, some construction of beating flesh and churning metal, shaped vaguely like a heart. Corvo can’t take his eyes off the thing. What is it? He has no frame of reference. There’s nothing like this in his world, though the machinery of the Drift is not so different from that thing on which he now gazes.

They’re ten feet from the altar when the world

**w**

**a**

**r**

**p**

**s**

and a being appears, hanging over the machinery.

He’s impossibly, eerily beautiful. Skin pale, veins the color of Kaiju blood twining through every visible inch of skin. Eyes like holes punctured in the fabric of the world, empty black. A face so perfect it looks like a statue. A black-clad human body, hands behind its back.

When he speaks, his mouth doesn’t move.

 ̓̅͌́ͣ̈H̓͗ͨ͗̈eͫ̈́ͤ̒̉ͯl͋͊̂l̋ͭ̋͒͆̊o͑̂̈̏͐͌,ͬ͐́ͮ̈́̚ ͦC͊́͗ͯ̃o͆̀̽͗̏r̎̿̃v̔̾́̾̍͌ͯŏͪ̐͆ͩ̓̚.ͦ ͐̿͌E̎̓͗̑m̈́ͤ̋̾ͧ̀̓i͋̄͌lͭ̂͛̍̄yͧ͌̌ͧ̾̂̋.̒ͨ̃ͣ̈ ͧ͛͌̑Ÿ́̀ͬ̏̃o̓͋ͯͯ̄ͯ̚u͛͗ͥ̎̉̅rͪ͌̋ ̍̀̆̆̐̅l̈́͛ͬ̈́̎̐ȉ̏ͣvě͊ͤ͊͐sͥ ͑hͤͣ̈̏a̓v͒ͤ̑ͫ̂̇e̓̿ ͧͬt͊̚ăͩ͛ͦ̄ͤ̒k͊̏̽eͬnͯ̊͊̔͆͒̾ ̔͆ͪͨ͋̍͋âͭ̓ͭ̔͐ ̀̎͗̇͋̚̚tu̽̉̆̋͒̅rͨ̆ͦ͌̑̏ͫn,͊̍̆ ͗̔̋hͫa̓ͯͫ͂ͣ͑̚v̅eͫ ̍͊͑ͤ̊t̅̆̏ͨ͑̄h͐e͛̅̽̌̏̚y͛͒ͯ̎ͪ ̏̉̄̊ͥ͂̍nͧ̈̐o̊̔͊ͫtͭ͑͊?ͨͫ͑

“Who the fuck are you?” Emily snarls.

Corvo holds out a hand, stopping her from stepping forward. “Wait,” he mutters. The being over the shrine smiles.

For ҉m҉illenn͡i̛a,̢ ̛hu͠m͝a̢ns̸ have look̶ęd t̛o the sta̛rs ̕a̡nd w̵o̧nder͡ed̛ ̕what ąwa̡i̶t̡e̶d͞ t͠he͠m ̸b̕e̷y͞ond the ͢a҉t͘mos͏p͘her̶e. ̧But͞ w̸hen t͞h͠e f͟ir̸st ̴Ka҉ij̴u ma̵de ͢lan̸d̵f̢al͟l҉ i̛n S҉a͢n͞ F͢ra̵nci͢şco,̧ ͟t̶h̶e ͘w͢o҉r̢l҉d̶ ҉r͞ea͝lized s͠w̶iftl̡y ̧t̸h̴at͏ ͝it̷ ̶ha͠d bȩen̸ loo̶king i̧n͝ ͢t͏h͏e͝ ҉wron͘g̛ dir̨ec͜tio̵n.͟ ̕The th̨reat̵ of̧ ̷K͟a̵i͢j͜u em͟er͢gi͜n͢g t͡hr̴oug͘h ͘the̷ ͟Br̕each̷, ͞a ͟ho͡ļe ̷in ̷the͟ ͡wo͢ŗl̛d͜,̛ br͠ough̡t a̸bo̕ut̕ t͏he be̴g͠inn҉i͠ngs̛ o͝f th͞e̛ Jaege̶r ͘p̛rog͟ra͝m.͠ ̧M͟o͢n̢s҉ter͟s ̴w̷er͢e͞ mąd͜e t͜o͡ f͡ig͟h͏t͏ ̢m̨ơn͠sţe̵rs͝.

“We know that,” Corvo says. “We lived it. Who are you?”

I͆ ̨̃̀̐̅̎ͮam͗ͩ ̔̓͌͆͑t͛́̉͒̔́͜h̅̑̑͆̈̍͏ę̒̓̐̑̽ͧ̚ ͮ̽̑O̸̿̍ư̔t͐̏̋ͫ̈͝s̸͛͗̓ͭ̊iͨ͌̽̈́͆d̄͋͏e̾̊͌ͧ̂͌r͢.͒̄̌ͨ̚

There’s a searing pain on the back of Corvo’s hand and he shouts. Emily wails and clutches at the same hand. Corvo can’t see through his Drivesuit glove but he feels like he’s been branded.

A̎ͮ̽̓͟ǹ̍̓̐dͣ͆̈́͊́̐ ͋̉̍ͮ̂̍ͥth̉͌işͬ̐ ͝i̎͟s̢͂ͯͣ͊̒̇̐ ̌͛ͯ̃͡m̛̿yͫ ̡̽ͯ͑̇̿͗͆M̵a̓ͣͫr̾͒̑k.́ͪ

“What the hell,” Emily pants. She leans on Corvo and he holds her up, staring at this thing over the altar. “What did you do to us!?”

The Outsider’s smile is immovable. Inscrutable. All-knowing.

In thi͝s̢ wor̨ld̛,͢ th͜er̕ȩ ͏are things ̧t̶h҉a͘t a̢ ҉hu͡man̨ ͟ca̡n͢’t̸ f̕igh̴t. A͘ ͢hurr͜ica͟ņe ͠i̕s ̕unsto͝pp̷ab̨l̡e…͏bu̶t ̧in ͢a J͡a̷eg͝e̸r, y͠ou̧ ͞cąn͡ ̕fi͟gh͝t ͜a͠ ͢hu̶rr̢i̵c̛a͠n̷e. And͞ ͘yo̢u ҉c͘a̧n͞ win. Bu͝t ͡th͏ere͡ a̛r̷e f̧orc͟es̸ i͠n ͘t͘his͠ ̢worl̢d ͘and͢ b҉e͏y͝on҉d͜ ͞this ̸wo̡r͝ld,͝ g͘r͡eat͏ ̵f͝o̸r̸ce̸s that e͟ven a͡ J͞aeg͜er̡ ̢c͞an’t̴ co͏nf̧rơn͡t͠. No͢w,̴ ̕s̴o̕me ǫf͡ t͘ho̶se for͏c̛es w̢i̢l͡l ͘serve҉ ̴y͠our will̴.͢

“What forces?” Corvo demands. He steps forward, bone charms rattling around his feet, reaching for the Outsider. “What are you!?”

He doesn’t get a reply. The Outsider seems, no matter how close Corvo gets, always just out of reach. He still smiles.

Ho̶w you̧ u̡s̡e w҉h̛at̸ ̢I͠ ̸h̸a͏v͠e ̧g̨iv͏e҉n͡ you f̶al̸ls͘ u͝pon͟ yo̵u, ͞a̶s̸ ̵it h͘a̷s to the o̢t̵her͟s͝ bef̛ore you.̶ A̵n̵d͡ now, ̸I͞ ͟r̢etu̶r̶n y͟ou ͞t͡o ̡your w̡or͜ld͏,̛ ͠bųt kn͘ow̷ ̶t͢h̴a͟t ҉I̷ wil͟l҉ ҉be ҉watchin͟g̷ ̕w̵i҉th gr̴eat̶ ̧intęr͘est.

Everything

**t**

**w**

**i**

**s**

**t**

**s**

with a wrench Corvo is awake, lying on a bed, while alarms wail and people yell all around him. He can’t move his head, or his arms, and his Drivesuit feels like it’s crushing him. The chest is half caved in—what kind of hit did they take? Where’s Emily? He still feels like they’re Drifting and he hears people shouting her name at a distance.

“He’s awake! Eyes open!” someone yells.

“Corvo,” Sokolov says, leonine head appearing in his view. “Can you speak?”

“What happened?” Corvo asks slowly. His hand aches, burns like fire. Phantom pain, surely, from a dream he never lived.

Sokolov squeezes his shoulder, hard enough that Corvo can feel it through the Drivesuit. “You took a hit from Leviathan,” the doctor says. “Nearly crushed Void Walker’s head with you inside. Daud and Billie took out the Kaiju and carried you home. Tell me what hurts worst, Corvo.”

“My hand,” Corvo rasps, voice cracking. He struggles to raise his hand, but can only manage a millimeter or so. But Sokolov notices, all the same; the doctor is a master of his craft, and his craft is making sure that Jaeger pilots stay on their feet. He has seen it all.

Of course, Sokolov has never seen anything like what he sees when he pulls off Corvo’s glove, snapping open buckles and straps to drop it to the floor. “What is this…?”

With an effort, Corvo turns his head. He can feel blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth as he does, thick and hot. And he sees—

—a Mark, on the back of his hand. Black as a hole punched in the fabric of the world.

“Emily,” he says. “Emily—she was with me—”

Her voice raises in a scream. “Get it off, get it off, get it off!”

Corvo forces himself to sit up, ignoring the blaze of agony in his chest where the Drivesuit crumpled through his flesh. Emily is on her feet, white-faced, staggering, much less damaged than Corvo but brandishing her hand for the room to see. An identical Mark, emblazoned on the back of her hand.

When they lock eyes, Corvo feels his hand burn and a whisper in his ears, the faintest laugh. As if he and Emily are still Drifting, still connected mind-to-mind.

And the Marks begin to glow.

The color of Kaiju blood.


End file.
